like china cups
by coolbyrne
Summary: To move forward, Sara discovers you have to take the first step. (SaraVartan) Edited Jan.20th- changed Vartan's name from Michael to Alex, since I discovered I'm Alias clueless and didn't realize "Michael Vartan" is also the name of an actor from that s
1. Default Chapter

**TITLE:** ... like china cups  
**AUTHOR:** coolbyrne  
**RATING:** PG for two bad words  
**DISCLAIMER:** Oh, what I'd be doing if they were mine. Alas, they are not.  
**FEEDBACK: **Compliments/constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames will be mocked in other forums. Send any combination of the above to:  
**SUMMARY:** To move forward, Sara discovers you have to take the first step.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **A bit of frustration on my part, regarding the 'ship, the season and the slow decimation of the character of Sara Sidle. I probably shouldn't write anything while listening to Annie Lennox or the Eurythmics, either, I suppose. Edited Jan 20th- Changed Vartan's first name; didn't realize Michael Vartan is also the name of the actor from Alias. Serves me right for not watching Alias, I guess. So instead, I changed it in honour of the actor who plays Vartan- Alex Carter.

---

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.  
-Robert Frost

The language of love, Slips from my lover's tongue  
Cooler than ice cream, and warmer than the sun  
Dumb hearts get broken, Just like china cups  
The language of love, has left me broken on the rocks

-"Who's that Girl?" by the Eurythmics

---

The realization hit her out of the blue and she was literally winded by it. 'That's why they call it an epiphany, Sidle,' she sneered at herself as she stumbled down the hallway of the police station. She reached out to steady herself, some semblance of balance restored as her fingertips dragged along the rough concrete wall and occasional public service poster. The hallway seemed to go forever, the florescent bulb flickering like a neon sign to the exit her only goal.

Light at the end of the tunnel.

If asked, she would've been unable to pinpoint the exact moment she'd fallen in love with him, just as sure as she couldn't define the moment when she realized that loving him wasn't enough.

Two thick glass doors signaled her escape from the station's pressing claustrophobia and as she pushed through she was grateful to feel the cool night air on her face. She saw her black Denali across the parking lot but thought better of it. She'd do Vegas a favour and not get behind the wheel just yet. Not in this state. Instead, she sat on the steps, her arms wrapped around her knees. A few familiar faces she couldn't place smiled at her as they entered the building but, for the most part, she was left to enjoy the stillness of the early hour.

Stillness. To not move; either forward, backward, left or right. Boy, she knew something about stillness. Oh, the last five years were filled with ups and downs –too many to count -but it all seemed to come back to... stillness. The true lack of movement. To work so hard only to end up where she'd started from. To run and run and run only to find the finish line not one inch closer. She wondered when she'd hit the glass ceiling, and wondered when she'd allowed it to box her in.

Someone jogged lightly down the steps and it wasn't until he reached the bottom did Sara realize it was Detective Vartan. It must have taken him an extra second for her identity to register as well, because it was only at the bottom when he turned.

"Hey," he said, pointing at her, "good job on that McKenzie case tonight, Sidle."

She acknowledged him with a weak smile and he turned to leave, then paused. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

Vartan scratched his temple as if giving something serious thought then he snapped his fingers. "I know what you need. You need more protein in your diet. Nothing that a nice juicy steak wouldn't cure."

Sara was about to take the bait when she saw a gleam in his eye and the faint trace of a smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. Her eyes narrowed. "How did you know I'm a vegetarian?"

"Brass told me," he shrugged. "When I first started this shift he gave me the rundown on you CSIs. You –vegetarian. Grissom –bug man."

She laughed, despite herself. "I don't even want to know the rest."

A few moments of silence passed before Vartan slipped his hands into his pockets and pulled out his keys. Absently, he lightly jingled them.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again, his brow slightly furrowed, his eyes concerned.

A breath caught in Sara's throat. "Yeah. Uh, I don't know. No." She buried her face in her knees for a second then looked up. "Forget me."

An emotion she couldn't quite name crossed his face. He held up his keys and pointed towards the parking lot with his chin. "Let's go for a drink."

She shook her head. "I don't drink."

"It doesn't have to be alcohol. Coffee, water, a root beer float."

"A root beer float, huh?"

"I know the best place. C'mon."

--

She scooped up the last remnants of her drink then sighed and set it down in front of the bench. Looking over at Vartan she admitted, "That was the best root beer float I have ever had."

Vartan smiled as he polished off his banana split. "Who would have thought you'd find the best ice cream in the world in the middle of the desert?" He stood up, gathered their containers and tossed them into a nearby garbage can. When he returned, he reclined back on the bench and stared off into the night. "So, you wanna tell me about you and the bug man?"

Sara's head swiveled. "Are you always this direct, Detective Vartan?"

"Yep," he said unabashedly. "Comes with the territory. Can't just turn off bein' a cop. My ex-wife hated it."

This bit of information surprised her. "I didn't know you were married."

"Why would you?" he asked not unkindly. "Been and gone. Three years ago. Couldn't leave the job at work, if that makes sense."

"More than you know," she said.

He shifted to look at her. "Yeah, I guess you would. I don't think anyone who doesn't do what we do gets it. You see the things we see every day, you can't just turn that shit off."

"No. No, you can't."

"My ex would tell me I should have married another cop. But then I figure, there's only room in a marriage for one basket case."

He said it in such seriousness that she couldn't stop her response. What started as a small smile grew into a chuckle and then into full blown laughter. She put her hand over her stomach and tried to calm down. "Ow. My stomach. Stop it."

Vartan held his hands up. "Hey, I didn't do anything."

It took her a few more seconds to get herself under control before she finally said, "You made me laugh. Thank you."

He brushed back a dark strand of her hair and replied softly, "You should do it more often. It suits you." When his fingertips touched her forehead, she pulled back and he did the same. "Sorry. That was out of place. My fault."

"No. I mean..." she faltered. "I don't know what I mean."

"Grissom."

She stood up abruptly. "Is it written on my fucking forehead or something?" she snapped. Just as quickly, she held up her hand as if to soothe the blow. "Sorry." He didn't say anything and she appreciated the gentle rebuff. She sat down beside him again and sighed.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," she admitted.

"All good stories start at the beginning."

"That's just it," she tried to explain, "I don't remember where the beginning is. I just remember that one day I realized... I loved him." She stole a glance at Vartan and was surprised to find his expression a thoughtful one.

"And he feels the same for you?"

She covered her face with her hands, then crossed her arms. There was a time when she wasn't sure, but now, her answer was a firm one. "Yes."

Vartan was quiet for a moment then theorized, "That's gotta be tougher than if you knew he didn't." When she didn't answer, he went on. "So in the face of everything –the age, the politics, the risk –you wait for a moment that may never come. And you wait and you wait."

Amazed at how quickly he could pin down the root of all her grief, she could only nod.

He pressed his lips together and nodded in reply. "You're a very brave woman, Sara Sidle."

The floodgates opened and the tears fell.

"Does this look... look like the face of... of a brave woman?" she hiccuped. She took the napkins he offered and wiped her eyes. Looking up to the sky, she asked, "When did I become this person I hardly recognize in the mirror? When did I lose my backbone? When did I lose my voice? What happened to the person who said she'd never let another man hurt her again?" She stopped hastily, not willing to go down that road. More lightly, she added, "And how did I become this person who blurts everything out to a cop?"

He smiled and went along. "Never underestimate the lure of the root beer float." More seriously, he said, "You know, you can't always prevent hurt from happening. But you can prevent hurt from continuing. These are the choice we make every day. Look at that woman in the mirror, recognize that she's partly to blame, and decide what the next choice should be. Then live with it."

"Just like that, huh?"

"No, of course not. That's the paradox about life; it's incredibly difficult and amazingly simple at the same time. In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."

She sniffled. "Wow. I'm ashamed of every stereotype I had about cops."

"Don't be," he grinned, "I stole that from a greeting card." When her laughter faded, he said, "But it's true, you know? Life will go on, with or without you. It's up to you."

"Yeah."

"Do you think you could say that with a little more conviction?"

She smiled and repeated, "Yeah."

"Better." He pulled out a business card from his pocket and scribbled a set of numbers on the back. "Now I'm going to make a choice," he told her as he handed her the card. "That's my home phone number. Cell phone's on the front. Give me a call sometime." He saw the look on her face and stopped her before she could speak. "Not tomorrow or this weekend. Maybe not even this month. Just... when you're ready, okay?" She looked down at the card. "And if you don't call me..." he shrugged, "well, life does go on." He bent his head to look into her eyes. "It just won't be as nice. C'mon. The sugar's wearing off and I need to go to bed." This got her head to snap up and he laughed. "That's not what I meant," then he shrugged again. "I mean, unless that's a choice you want to make."

She threw the napkins at his chest. "The root beer float wasn't that good." She tempered her jab with a small smile. Standing up, she said, "Come on, Detective Vartan, I'll let you drive me back to the police station."

"Like I'd let you walk," he scoffed and stood up. She got a few steps ahead when he called out softly. "Hey, Sara?" She turned to his voice. "Do you think maybe... you could call me Alex?"

Some choices were easier to make than others and in the days ahead, she would realize this as being the easiest one.

"Sure. Alex."


	2. chapter2

A/N: This sort of fits as a continuation, so I've posted it as another chapter. Also, I forgot to thank my beta reader in the first bit. Am I insane! So, thanks, papijo.

Spoilers for "Formalities".

--

...And you learn to build all your roads on today  
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans  
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.  
After a while you learn  
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.  
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,  
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers...

-excerpt of "Comes the Dawn" by Veronica A. Shoffstall

--

As she turned the corner into the locker room the muffled hum of conversation sharpened, as if someone had tuned a radio.

"Sara's gonna freak when she hears about this."

"Freak about what, Nick?" Sara said as she stood at the end of the bench and looked down at the two conspirators.

Catherine's head jerked up and she had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Uh, we... we were just talking about the upcoming holidays. Looks like you're tagged to work Christmas again."

Sara frowned. "Why would that freak me out?" Knowing it would be easier to squeeze the information out of Nick rather than Catherine, she turned to him. "Why would that freak me out, Nick?"

He stood up quickly and shoved his gear into his locker. "I, uh, well, you know..."

"Oh, to hell with it," Catherine said, "she'll hear about it eventually. Grissom got called to work a DB when he was supposed to be at the Ecklie Appreciation Society meeting."

Sara grinned. "Yeah, I heard all about the dinner. Grissom was working on the speech when I got off shift the other morning."

"Yeah, well he was still working on it at the damn dinner," Catherine groaned.

"I'm still not freaking out."

"Well... he worked the case with someone from day shift. Ecklie's right hand man. Or should I say, woman." When Sara's blank expression encouraged her to go on, she continued, "And, you just might hear some stories, that's all."

"What kind of stories?"

"None that will have any merit whatsoever. She's Ecklie's tool. If Grissom didn't figure it out for himself, I made sure he knew all about it before the night was over. I told him to keep his friends close, but his enemies closer."

Nick snorted, "If he keeps her any closer, he'll be in her pant -" he saw the wide eyes of Catherine and quickly amended, "I meant that figuratively. I didn't..."

Putting his jacket on and patting the pockets for his keys, he said, "And that's my cue to get outta Dodge. I'll see you two ladies in fifteen hours."

"Coward," Catherine whispered as he went past.

"Survivor," he countered, and left.

As the door closed softly behind him, Catherine put her hand on Sara's arm. "Forget Nick; he's a guy, you know how they are."

Sara nodded. "I'm still not sure why he would think I would freak."

"Well," Catherine faltered, "you and Grissom..."

"There is no me and Grissom."

"Sara..."

"No, listen. There was a time where I would have cared, cared a lot. And I'll admit, I'm a bit... thrown by this, but you know what? He's a grown man. So good for him. And I'm a grown woman. It's time I started acting like one."

Catherine's eyebrows shot up. "Well. Good for you, girl. Good for you." She grabbed her jacket and closed her locker. There was something in Sara's expression that made her pause. "Hey. If you want to talk or go out for a drink sometime, you know where I am. Give me a call."

She didn't bother to tell Catherine that drinking was out of the question. She appreciated the gesture and she told her so. "Thanks. Maybe I will."

"Okay." Not knowing what else to say, if anything at all, Catherine simply said, "I'll see ya."

It was only after the door closed that Sara let the tears fall.

--

She had made a decision several weeks ago, while sitting alone on the steps of the police station, that things were going to change, that she was going to step forward instead of standing still. Of course, it was all easy in theory but there was nothing like a cold glass of water to the face to bring things back to reality. And that's what the conversation with Catherine had been – a dose of reality, daring her to put theory into practice. "Easier said than done." Her words seemed to hang in the empty room.

She opened her locker door, stripping off her shirt heavy with a long shift's worthof sadness and dead ends. As she pulled the clean tee over her head, a small white business card caught her eye. She had taped it to the inside of the door and had forgotten all about it. She pulled the card from the metal, the tape peeling away, her words echoing back to her, 'And I'm a grown woman. It's time I started acting like one'. Reaching blindly into her locker, she felt for her phone and flipped it open. She didn't dare look away from the card for fear of losing her nerve, but she was determined to do this.

Taking a deep breath she keyed in the unfamiliar sequence of numbers.

It was the sleepy tone in his voice that made her pause; she had simply taken it for granted that he would be working, that she would just catch him finishing his shift, that it would be an easy route from there to asking him to breakfast. Of course, nothing ever seemed to come easy, so why would she think it would start now?

"Hello?" he repeated, slightly more clearly.

His voice startled her out of her introspection and she covered it up with a quick, "Oh." Realizing the inanity of her response, she tried again. "Sorry. I woke you up. I didn't even think you might not be working. Sorry. I'll... I'll call back?" She cringed. What happened to the part about being a grown woman? God, when did she turn back to being fourteen?

There was a moment's silence. "Sara?" It wasn't meant to prod her, it was meant to identify her.

"What? Oh, sorry. Yeah. Yeah, it's me," she answered, now thinking that fourteen might have been a bit of an optimistic stretch.

His soft chuckle disarmed her. "Okay, now we're gettin' somewhere."

The obvious next step was to tell him why she was calling. A bit too brightly and much too quickly, she blurted out, "Hey, Det... Alex. I just thought maybe if you weren't doing anything after work, we could maybe get together and have breakfast or whatever."

"I'm not working."

"I... yeah, I know."

"So did you still want to have breakfast?"

His question stopped her in her tracks. "Uh, you mean when you get off work later, or...?"

Another chuckle rolled down the line. "How about now?"

"Oh."

"I'm probably a bit too rough around the edges to bee seen in public right now, but why don't I meet you halfway? I'll get dressed and make you breakfast."

It was only then that it occurred to Sara that Vartan was talking to her from his bed. "I... uh...," she stammered as images of him in various states of undress flashed across her mind. She couldn't help but laugh at herself. "If it's not out of your way."

"Well, I gotta get dressed at some point today, and if eggs and toast are out of my way, I don't think it will take me long to come back." She wished he could see her smile. "Besides, what am I gonna do now I'm awake?" His tone softened the remark. "You know where I live?"

"Not a clue."

"I'm at 4058 Sierra Heights."

"Is that off Pembrook?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I don't know. I think we had a decomp up there a couple of years ago." When she heard a small cough, she berated herself for the comment. "Sorry. I don't think before I speak."

"No, it's okay," he told her, "I was just thinking I've never had a conversation like this with a woman over the phone before."

Smirking, she replied, "First time for everything, I guess."

"I guess so."

Another pause passed between them, this one tinged with an odd charge. Before she gave herself too much time to analyze it, she asked, "Should I bring anything?"

"Yeah, how about some orange juice? Or whatever. I'm pretty sure I'm down to my last glass of everything."

"Okay. Orange juice it is." She wiped her palm on her jeans. "So... I'll see you. I'll see you in about twenty minutes."

"Okay," he answered. "Take your time; I've gotta pick up all my dirty laundry and hide all the porn."

By the time she had picked up her jaw, he had already hung up the phone.


	3. chapter3

A/N: Whoops! Forgot to mention last time that there would be at least one more chapter. So, here it is. There is a sense of completion to it, though it is also left open enough that I can come back to it in the future if the muse strikes me.A quick thanks to those who have read, and an extra thanks to those who have commented.

--

She wasn't sure what she expected when she pulled into Vartan's driveway, but she was sure this wasn't it. The small house had a long way to go before it would be considered extravagant, but with its short fence and tended hedges it was... nice. Or maybe she had been out of touch with the rest of the world for so long that she had forgotten what normal looked like.

On her way up the steps Sara picked up the newspaper, hesitating for a brief moment before she rang the doorbell. It opened so quickly that she jumped back.

"Were you camped out at the door waiting for me?" she asked, covering her alarm.

His normally hard angular features softened into a smile. "Maybe."

It was then that she realized he was just as uncertain about all this as she was, and something in that knowledge helped her relax. Holding up a bag she held in one hand, she said, "Orange juice." Holding up the other, she added, "Newspaper."

"Yeah, I heard it hit the door when that damn delivery kid heaved it at the house. One day he's gonna bust one of my windows, then I'm gonna have to bust his ass." The image of Vartan running down some poor kid on a bike brought a smile to her face and made her laugh. He smiled at her response. Stepping to the right, he gestured inside. "Come on in."

When the door closed behind her, she rocked back slightly on her heels, uncertain of the next step.

"Kick off your shoes and make yourself at home. Here, let me take that," he offered as he reached for the bag. Their fingers brushed each other and he froze in his half-bent position.

In an attempt to deflect the awkwardness and accept the moment, Sara held up the bag and looked at him square in the eyes. "Here."

Taking the bag from her, he tilted his head towards another room. "Let me show you around the rest of the place."

The size of it made the tour a short one. Two bedrooms, with one turned into an office space, one bathroom, a laundry room, a deceptively large living room and a kitchen that opened up to face the living room. The small breakfast island with four stools made up for the absence of a dining room.

"I don't have a lot of people over and I don't eat a lot at home," he explained when he saw her looking around.

She turned to him and shook her head. "No, I wasn't thinking that –I was thinking how neat you are."

He smirked. "I guess I didn't have as much dirty laundry as I thought."

"Or as much porn."

He laughed warmly. "Or porn." He saw her look around again and asked, "What are you thinking now?"

"I don't know. I guess I was thinking cops must make way more than I thought." His expression asked her to explain. "I mean, this is a really nice place. And...," she wasn't sure how to say it, but she had gone this far, "you're divorced."

The light of realization went on in his eyes. "Ah, you mean alimony." She nodded. "I'm off the hook for that. My ex got married a year after we divorced." Try as she might, Sara couldn't stop the surprise from showing on her face. "Yeah," Vartan said, "to our mailman."

The choke of laughter snuck out of the corner of her mouth. "You're not serious." The look on his face told her otherwise. "Oh. Oh, shit. I'm sorry." She put her hand on his arm to let him know she meant it. "I shouldn't have laughed. That was rude."

He accepted her apology with a good-natured shrug. "Don't worry. She's happy, he's happy and I'm... relatively happy." They were quiet for a moment. "Why don't you have a seat," he said at last. "You can read the paper while I make breakfast."

"I thought you were going to make it while I came over."

"Yeah, but then I realized I didn't know how you like your eggs."

Puzzled at his point, she shrugged. "Whatever way you want them is fine with me."

"How about we make them the way _you_ want them? Humour me, will you?"

Inexplicably, she felt the sting of tears threaten. "That would be nice," she answered.

"Okay then," he smiled. "Scrambled? Fried? Poached? Something else?"

"My mom used to make these great scrambled eggs when I was a kid," Sara said.

"Come on," he replied, gesturing to the kitchen. "You can show me how."

--

"God," she praised as she took another forkful of her breakfast, "these are fantastic. Thank you."

"Don't thank me, it was your mother's recipe. I just broke the eggs."

"Well then, it was a collaborative effort." Another forkful went into her mouth. "These are so good."

He nodded in agreement, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I forgot the coffee." Standing up, he walked the five steps to the cupboard and took out two mugs. Without Sara's instruction, he poured the coffee and scooped two teaspoons of sugar into one mug. When he was satisfied the mix was complete, he tapped the spoon on the lip of the ceramic and put it into the sink. Carefully holding both mugs, he returned to the breakfast island and put her cup down in front of her. Without a word, he sat down.

"Okay, how did you know how I take my coffee?" she asked.

"Would you have been more surprised if I had given you tea?" he asked in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried not to smile.

Sara's eyes narrowed. "How did you know I was drinking tea these days?"

"Same way I know how you take your coffee." He took a bite of his toast and let her ponder the answer, finally relenting under her scrutiny. "Remember the McMillan case last spring?"

"How could I not? I don't know how many hours we logged in on that case."

He nodded. "We all got together that one night and hashed it out. I don't think we left that conference room the entire night."

"That's right, I remember." She snapped her fingers. "We decided to forego the office coffee and got it from the Starbucks down the street from the lab."

"That's right."

"And you remember how I take my coffee from that one moment?"

"I am a cop, you know," he replied. "If it makes you feel any better, Brass likes his straight up, Grissom takes two creams, Catherine likes hers double-double -"

Sara held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay." Looking off to the side, it took her less than a minute to fill in the rest of the blanks. "The Phillips case. We all pulled another brainstorming session. I ordered tea."

"You ordered tea. One sugar, not two."

Smiling appreciatively, she said, "That's good."

"Thanks," he replied over the rim of his cup.

"You take yours straight up, like Brass."

"Sorry?"

"Your coffee," she said, pointing to his cup. "Black, no sugar."

"Yep."

"I'll remember that," she promised. Before he could read anything in her eyes, she looked down and took another forkful of her eggs. Behind the thick lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes, she mused, "Good job, own your own house, good-looking by most women's standards," she snuck a quick peek, then looked down into her plate again, "and a great cook. So why are you single?" A thought flashed through her mind and her head came up. "You are single, aren't you?"

He frowned. "Of course I am. I wouldn't have invited you over if I wasn't." He took another sip from his cup. "Good job, incredibly smart, beautiful by most men's standards..." he waited for her to see his wink before continuing, "and a recipe for scrambled eggs that most people would kill for." Her laugh interrupted him. "So why are you single?"

She brushed her hair back and rested her chin in her hand. "Why do I think my answer's going to be so much longer than yours?"

He wiped his mouth and leaned back in his stool. With his left arm on the table, he drummed his fingers for a bit before responding, "I don't know what you think of me, Sara, but my wife didn't leave me just because one day she decided to hook up with the mailman. I'm not the easiest person in the world to live with, and I'd probably say the same thing even if I didn't do the job I do. But does the job add to it? Sure. When I'm home, I find it hard to leave the job behind me. And when I'm not home... well, I might not make it home." Sara's eyes widened. "Chances are low –Christ, I feel for the guys in uniform –but it's something that comes with the job, too. All these things make it hard to sustain anything good for any length of time."

"So... why did you give me your number?" she asked, not accusingly, but with honest curiosity.

"Because life's too short to spend it wondering 'what if?' And..." he faltered slightly, "there was just something about you sitting on those steps that night. Made me wonder 'what if?'"

"What if what?"

He shrugged and looked into the living room, away from her gaze. "I dunno. What if I could make it work with this girl, I guess."

Her chin came off her hand and she sat back. She thought of a thousand things to say, but the only word that came out was a stunned, "Wow."

With a sidelong glance, he made an attempt at levity. "And here I thought you were gonna bust me for calling you a girl." When she still said nothing more, he stood up and gathered their plates. "Let me clean this up a bit," he said and took the dishes over to the sink.

On uncertain legs, she stood up and walked towards him. "Hey."

He turned, "Hey." He wiped his hands on a dishcloth and tossed it on the counter. "I'm sorry if I'm moving too fast. I don't meant to put you in a -"

"No," she interrupted, "it's okay. You're not moving too fast. Just... faster than I'm used to. I'll catch up, I promise."

"Okay," he smiled.

"Okay." Tiredness chose that moment to overtake her and her hand quickly covered her mouth, but not before a small yawn escaped.

"Shit," Vartan said, "I completely forgot. You're nights. You must be exhausted. I should let you get home." The sudden gleam in his eye couldn't be ignored. "Unless you want to sleep here."

She smirked. "Now _that's_ moving too fast."

They shared a lazy laugh.

"Maybe we can come up with some kinda compromise," he suggested.

Before she could ask him what he meant, he brought up his left hand to her face and ran his fingers through her hair until his hand nestled in the curve of her neck. His thumb caressed her jaw line and his mouth followed his gaze; transfixed by her lips. He hesitated just before their mouths met, giving her the chance to change her mind. His lips brushed lightly across hers, but he didn't go further, giving her another chance. It was then she brushed her lips across his to let him know she wasn't objecting.

She was surprised to hear him moan softly and even more surprised at the warm tingle when their tongues finally met. Her hand had found its way to his shoulder, where it was now gripping tightly at the material and holding on for dear life. His free hand circled around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She groaned at the evidence of his arousal pressed against her. It must have been her groan that pulled him back to reality. His hold loosened, though he didn't let go entirely.

Turning his mouth away from hers, he managed to say, "Any more than this and we'll be well past half way."

She grinned along his cheek. "You're right."

They pulled away and smiled at each other, neither sure what to do next.

"Uh, why don't I walk you to the door?" he offered at last.

"Okay."

Seven seconds later, they were at the door.

"Here we are," he announced unnecessarily. When she laughed, he said, "You know, I was married at one time. Had a couple of girlfriends before I got married. I've had one since my divorce. You'd think I'd have all this memorized by now."

"Well," she smiled, "maybe it's a good thing, because I don't know what I'm doing either."

"So it's not just me."

"No."

"Thank God," he said, which made her smile again. "Think of it this way –we'll have a good story to tell our grandchildren in forty years."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're very confident."

"Hey, I didn't say the forty years would start right now. But you know, I wouldn't mind having something to look forward to."

She looked at him, his eyes full of amusement yet not without a large measure of honesty in them. She couldn't think of a better way to thank him than by giving him the same in return.

"Me, too," she replied honestly. "Me, too."

--end


End file.
